Paper Feathers
by tealeeches
Summary: Inquisitor Chilaili feels as though her commander doesn't trust her when it comes to her fairly mediocre and limited magic, and possibly everything else. Something short and cute, complete with an embarrassed and slightly klutzy elf!Inquisitor.


The sun was now at its peak, and she'd already attended three hearings and an early luncheon. She'd never asked to be a person of power, let alone some religious figure revered by all. This position was still something she didn't fully understand, and it was times like this that she wished she'd been ravaged and torn apart by the Breach.

Tired and on the verge of tipping over and falling asleep, she padded across courtyards and walkways, heavy bag at her hip—clanking and slapping against her loosely clothed body. A constant bruise lingered where her bag sat, pain dull and aching. It wasn't worse than a blade cutting through flesh, however, and Chi was quite able to ignore it. She had business to attend to, and purple and blue upon milky white wouldn't keep her from completing her tasks early—so she could sleep and wallow in the tavern.

To her dismay, she eventually realized that her wishes were to be pushed back even further—that bloody commander had disappeared completely. Always punctual, his "disappearance" was out of the ordinary. What good was the Inquisitor without any kind of militaristic lead? What good was she with at least ten rolled up maps weighing her down?

The garden was barren, besides a few miscellaneous denizens tending to flowers and bushes. The tavern was brimming, but void at the same time. Cullen's tower seemed to be empty as well. She'd called for him at least three times, poking her head through the cracked door. No answer—no signs of life. This small delivery began to turn into an hour long quest for the suddenly illusive blond. Chi wasn't exactly concerned. She was—confused—lacking a better word.

The Inquisitor decided to check once more inside his office and residence, flinging the door open. Mild irritation had snaked its way into her tone, accompanied by a twisting face and narrowed eyes.

"Commander?" she half yelled, as sternly as her tiny could muster. No response was given, and she projected her voice farther, growing both distressed and angry. Relief finally came when she heard a cough and a muffled reply.

"Did he shrink himself?" she mumbled to herself, brow furrowing as she shuffled around, trying to determine where he'd been hiding.

"Up here."

That only partially explained his absence. Chi looked toward the ladder leading to the second floor of the tower, figuring she'd sort out the minor inconvenience immediately. Short, quick strides led her to the ladder, and lithe fingers latched onto the rungs. She began climbing quite quickly, skipping steps along the way. Reaching the top, she threw her arms over the side, pulling up to shimmy herself into his living quarters. That was about as far as she got though, overcome with a red face and scattered, mumbled apologies.

Before her stood the commander, only feet away and observing himself in front of a small mirror—tarnished, but still useable. The skin of his torso was vulnerable and bared—speckled with white and pink scars, scattered freckles, fresh scrapes and cuts, and browned bruises given to him by the heavy armor he dawned on a near daily basis. She froze and watched in awe—shoulders and back twitching, muscles moving under taut flesh. The scene before her made him even more alive. He was just a man under the thick layer of metal he wore day in and day out. Her observations didn't last long, however, and her dumbstruck self lost footing on the ladder.

A small squeak escaped her throat as she fell, catching herself halfway down—one hand grasping a rung and a knee hooked on another. In the process of tumbling down and abruptly stopping, the contents of her heavy, burdensome bag flew onto the floor below. Chi scurried back down, flustered and swearing under her breath—oh, he'd end up being the death of her, but she figured it served her right for not simply waiting below.

The commander peaked over the side, stupid and enticing grin painted on his face. Chi couldn't even look up to respond to anything he said—not that she could decipher his words. Bottles and papers and maps, quills, and trinkets were collected and thrown messily into the leather bag, and she ascended once more, despite being told to wait.

This time around, she managed to not trip over her awe and stupidity, and she flung herself onto the wooden floor, remaining in an uncomfortable sitting position, trying desperately not to gawk even more. Still, the hair on her arms stood on end when she heard a soft chuckle come from this towering man with hair still tousled from sleep. The Inquisitor scowled, hard enough that her contorting face could maybe be heard throughout Skyhold.

She would have come up with some kind of retort, but this suddenly insufferable man was making it quite hard as he returned to examining himself: fingers scratching at the scruff on his jaw, arms reaching to the ceiling as he stretched, accompanied by a pained grunt.

Chi stood, now curious as to what had caused the other discomfort.

"You're hurt?" she asked with a slight tremor in her airy voice, floating through dust.

"Nothing that can't be managed," Cullen replied, looking over his shoulder, eyebrow cocked.

"Let me see."

With a sigh—almost irritated, but not quite—he obeyed, revealing a rather large gash along his side, swelled and fresh, skin bright pink around the scabbed wound. Chi already had her mediocre healing spell dancing at the tips of her fingers, reaching out to brush the other's torso. He caught her wrist, eyes narrowing.

"I'm fine. It just hurts."

"And it won't if you let go of me," she replied, mirroring his face with her own.

Cullen carefully released the woman, paw-like hand unraveling itself from her wrist.

"As you wish."

"You seem to not fully trust me," she mumbled under her breath, which cause the other's to hitch at the accusation. However, he didn't respond, and instead he allowed this small, odd woman trace the wound that'd been inflicted while in the field. She was quick, and finished before he could manage to string any words together. No, she hadn't been able to remove the wound entirely, but she was correct when she said it wouldn't throb and ache.

Quietly, she returned to her original intention of delivering a rather large amount of miscellaneous, but required, notes and the like. But she paused for just a moment with her fingers still against the commander's skin, surprisingly soft despite the obvious wear. She could've sworn she saw goosebumps form along his arms, but she payed no mind.

Ignore it. Ignore it.

.

Without another word, she turned away, carefully descended the ladder, and waited by the desk, throwing herself down onto a chair and spreading various papers and maps onto the hardwood. She worked quickly, marking maps and taking notes on torn bits of paper extracted from notepads and old books. Disorganized, but manageable—in her own eye at least.

It took her quite some time to notice Cullen had soon followed behind her and sat himself in his own chair with his elbows planted on the desk and hands clasped, now covered in his usual wear—glinting silver armor, crimson and gold fabrics adorning his form. And that damned vest he wore constantly—the same vest she'd commandeered just a few weeks prior. It smelled like dust and parchment, soil and sweat, complete with faint hints of iron. Soft and comfortable, large and well worn. Most of the time it'd been in her possession, she'd used it as a blanket, nuzzling the feathers as she sat in her corner inside of the tavern.

"Thank you, by the way," he said after a cough, alerting her of his presence.

Chi paused in her work, letting her eyes drift upward, peering through snowy white fringe.

"I do understand you have—qualms, with magic," she began, returning to scribbling with her quill. "I am incapable of anything beyond what just occurred."

He nodded slowly, almost disappointed that he'd attempted to stop her. That little touch had sent shock-waves through his body, but she hadn't been close to noticing the effect it had.

"Anyhow, I've been looking for you for at least the past hour," she continued, focused mostly on the ink soaking into a rather large map she'd acquired. "I called for you twice before I wandered around."

"And I apologize," he replied. "This will not happen again. I did oversleep—a blunder on my part."

"Oh—no. I—I was a bit concerned, to be honest. Then again, it was foolish of me to expect you to constantly be slaving away."

"And it's foolish of me to not trust you."

That simple sentence made her pause and stare blankly down at the desk, ink dripping onto paper and seeping into the fibers.

"I—I have a few things from Josephine here for you to go over when you get the time," she said, dodging what he said completely. She knew he definitely noticed, but he didn't mention it, not wanting to press the issue. "Mostly these damned maps—"

"Which you're dripping ink on."

"Oh!"

Chi retracted her hand, scattering small drops of liquid black across the desk. The commander plucked the quill from her hand, smearing the ink over her fingers and causing a greater mess—though he didn't appear to mind in the slightest.

"You're distracted. Perhaps you should be the one oversleeping," she suggested, leaning forward so slightly with a single finger pointed to the woman, humor teasing his words. The Inquisitor shrugged, dropping her hands into her lap and watching her fingers slowly stain—an intense contrast to her pallid skin, void of all color.

"I can't at the moment. I have a few other deliveries to make," Chi said, a sigh heavy in her voice, pushing herself up from the chair she sat in. "Urgent matters—at least that's what I'm told."

"Busy, busy. Shall I accompany you?"

She stared off into an abyss for a moment, gears turning in her skull.

"Only if you let me wear your vest."

Cullen's eyes narrowed—but nonetheless, a small small played at the corners of his lips, and she shrugged off the heavy, feathered vest and handed it over to the small Inquisitor.

"Don't run off with it—again."

Chi clasped her hands in delight, and snatched it from the other, draping it over herself. It hung on her like the rest of her clothing, dwarfing her even further. Her cheeks were still pink, realizing that he knew that she'd been the one who'd made off with it previously.

"I won't. Promise."

She turned to prance out the door, vest fluttering around her calves. Cullen strode toward her in one step, and stopped her by latching onto the loose fabric, just as she opened the door, sunlight flooding the room and making the Inquisitor almost glow. The sudden lurch almost knocked her off her feet as she was spun around to face the commander, towering over her. He nudged her chin up with a gloved finger, almost playfully.

"I do trust you, Chilaili. You know that."

"Yes."

Her reply was so simple, but satisfactory. He reached out to toy with her hair—ruffle it at most, but she'd already escaped out the door. He followed diligently, catching up to her fast enough.

And he continued to follow until she left him for her chambers.

He'd follow her if she requested the next day, and the day after. The week after. Months and years after.

He'd follow her to the end—but only if she allowed him to.


End file.
